


root for the home team

by remembermyfic



Series: 2019 Snail Mail Advent Calendars [6]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Baseball, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22262260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remembermyfic/pseuds/remembermyfic
Summary: “Throwing out the ceremonial first pitch tonight is a left winger who scored 76 points last season and wears number 12 for your very own Chicago Blackhawks. Please welcome to the mound, Alex Debrincat!”“Today’s pitch will be received by centre-fielder Dylan Strome.”
Relationships: Alex DeBrincat/Dylan Strome
Series: 2019 Snail Mail Advent Calendars [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564486
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	root for the home team

**Author's Note:**

> If you know the people, these are not the words you were looking for. Please exit out of the tab/window at your earliest convenience. 
> 
> This is R's fault. Entirely. Otherwise we wouldn't be talking about the White Sox would we? WOULD WE?!

Jennifer is lovely, not that it’s that hard of a label to receive when it comes to Alex Debrincat handing it out. It takes a cold water bottle, an air conditioned office, and a few precious moments of silence before she throws out the first pitch. It’s the height of Chicago’s summer and yeah, Alex is 100% taking advantage of the heat to highlight the wonderful frame hockey’s given her, it’s still not great.

“Alex?”

She offers a smile when Jennifer pokes her head through the door. “Ready?”

“Almost,” Jennifer replies. “But there’s someone who wants to meet you.”

She recognizes the head that pokes through the door. She needs a summer sport to follow, so yeah she recognizes Dylan Strome when he pokes his head through the door. Alex’s body springs to attention.

“Dylan Strome.”

Alex laughs but stands and takes the hand held out to her. “Alex Debrincat.”

“I know.”

That makes her laugh again. “I know you, too.”

He looks surprised. “Didn’t take you for a fan.”

“I’m a fan of sports,” she says, almost diplomatically. There’s no need for her to admit the way a shot of his smile on her television last season had her tumbling head over heels into celebrity crush. Nor is there a need for her to even attempt the ‘what, you think as a woman I wouldn’t watch baseball’ path. “A girl needs something to do in the offseason.”

“Don’t hockey players golf?”

“And fish, and cottage to round out the stereotype,” she agrees without heat. It’s a pretty accurate description of her summer. “We also follow other sports.

He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. Alex hates that it’s endearing. “The Sox though?”

“Don’t you start with me on taste in sports teams, Mr. Toronto.” And the words are already out of her mouth before she realizes exactly what she’s just opened herself up to. Baseball hometowns aren’t as broadcast as hockey hometowns.

Though, sure enough: “You know my hometown?” Dylan asks and he looks adorably surprised.

Alex knows she’s blushing. “I follow baseball.”

“Ten minutes,” Jennifer interrupts cheerfully. “Dylan you’re going to want to get down to the field.”

Dylan doesn’t race for the door. Instead he pauses, much like he’d rather linger. She throws the thought out as soon as it sneaks in.

“I’ll see you out there?”

“Yeah,” she replies, amusement loud in her voice. “I’ll be the one throwing the ceremonial rocket.”

His eyes glint with challenge and her insides melt. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

It’s a nonsensical answer if she’s generous. He’s the superstar centre fielder, not the catcher. How he’d know how hard or how fast she throws is beyond her. Not that she has much time to dwell on it. Jennifer pokes her head in a moment later to lead her out of the office and through the maze of hallways to the edge of the field.

“Throwing out the ceremonial first pitch tonight is a left winger who scored 76 points last season and wears number 12 for your very own Chicago Blackhawks. Please welcome to the mound, Alex Debrincat!”

She jogs out across the field, waving as she goes, ball in hand. She even goes as far as to throw a wink directly into the camera with a laugh.

“Today’s pitch will be received by centre-fielder Dylan Strome.”

She doesn’t startle - thank you media training - but she does inhale sharply from 90 feet away while he gives the crowd a quick wave.

“Hey Alex, it’s your pitch!

Her heart is thumping with an embarrassing amount of how much she wants to impress Dylan with her pitch. It irritates her, if she’s honest, because dammit, at this rate she’s going to humiliate herself. Instead she turns away to breathe. When she turns back, she winds up and sends a genuine bullet that surprises even Alex herself. He catches it, swift and easy, rising smoothly from his crouch to meet her half way.

“I stand corrected,” he says on a laugh, already reaching into his pocket for a Sharpie.

He signs her ball with a flourish as she says, “I work out,” with a put-upon shrug.

They pose for pictures and Alex figures that’s it, is already turning around, when Dylan reaches out to grip her elbow briefly and gently.

“Come down after the game,” he says and she wonders if he actually sounds nervous. “To the clubhouse.”

Alex blinds for a moment.

“I’ll send someone to bring you,” he goes on, speaking quickly. “You can see the clubhouse and meet the team and-”

“Yes.” It comes out of her mouth in a blurt that surprises her. It’s been the story of her every interaction since shaking his hand.

His smile is so wide for a moment, before it shifts into something mischievous. “See you after the win.”

It takes her a moment, watching him jog away, before she laughs.

The Sox do win, which is a relief to Alex. She has very applicable experience in what locker rooms feel like after a loss and she’s grateful she doesn’t have to deal with that. She also has very applicable experience with locker rooms in general, so when the staffer that escorts her to the clubhouse warns her she may want to wait about fifteen minutes before going in, she merely raises an eyebrow and pushes open the clubhouse door.

And promptly terrifies a rookie that looks like he might legitimately be twelve.

“Mitts, rude!” comes a voice from further inside. Alex has the brief realizations she’s standing in the middle of a who's who in baseball superstars like Benn and McDavid and Josi. Sure, she’s surrounded by her own version of superstar on a routine basis - she exchanges workout chirps with Jack Eichel and accepts fashion advice from Steph Jones - and yet, PK Subban’s blinding smile makes her blink.

“You must be Alex Debrincat.”

“Alex is fine,” she replies and accepts the outstretched hand. Her eyebrows climb her forehead when he immediately bends over it like a Medieval gentleman.

“Subs, you hitting on Stromer’s girl?”

The clubhouse erupts and Alex knows even her face is going pink.

“Just showing her she has options.”

“Fuck off.” Dylan shoves Subban out of the way. “Excuse them. They’re assholes.”

“I spend ten months with hockey players.”

“Introduce me to Carey Price,” Subban says over Dylan’s shoulder. “I watched her play for Team Canada and be still my beating heart.”

“And tell her what?” comes Benn’s voice. “That you’re over-dramatic? Or that you kiss the hands of random women that step into the clubhouse?”

“Stromer said he was inviting her down!”

“He also specifically requested that you not embarrass him.” And yep, that’s Connor McDavid tossing his arm over Dylan’s shoulders. “Too late.”

“I’m wounded.”

Dylan looks up at the sky. “Can you all fuck off? For the love of God.” Then he focuses on her. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m going to remember this moment when people say anything bad about NHL locker rooms.”

He lets out a bark of laughter. “Again, I’m sorry.”

“Athletes,” she says. Then, because they’re at an awkward impasse, “You were right on the win.”

“Had some extra motivation.” He offers her a boyish grin. “I can teach you to hit like that if you’d like.”

She lets out a startled sound because it dawns on her this isn’t just a professional courtesy he’s extending to another athlete. She lets it sink in long enough that she can see his confidence fall a little. “And if I show you up?”

His smile comes back at full wattage. “I’ll buy you dinner.”

Alex pretends to consider it. “How about you buy me dinner anyway.”

“Now?”

“Sure,” she says because why the hell not take advantage? Dinner with Dylan Strome, her baseball crush. “As long as you shower first.”

He laughs and rocks towards her for a split second, like he wants to touch her. “It’s a date.”


End file.
